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Gay Stories
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Gay Male / 43
I Love Being The Wife, It Fits Me
Even now it is hard for me to admit it. I had a roommate in college, he was on his bed pleasuring himself, he was totally naked, he had his head thrown back and his eyes closed. I was overcome with desire, and went over and lowered my head and took his cock in my hand and put it in my mouth. He grabbed my head and holding me without being able to move he came in my mouth.
I was disgusted with myself, I hated myself. I could not look at him in the eyes. He teased me with his cock, he put his cock in my food, he grabbed me and pumped himself against my backside. He came to my bed naked and got in bed grabbing my cock. He kissed me on the mouth. And he stole a tube of anal lubricant from a friend and he used it to fuck me.
He fucked me. I was his fuck boy. I also gave him oral sex and pleasured him with my hand. I had to sleep with him and he told everyone he knew and everyone he saw that I was his toy boy. On campus was a gay club, an unofficial and prohibited social club for gays on campus to get together. He took me there, he walked me around, showing me off. He kissed me in public and grabbed my ass to the delight of the other gay students there.
It was during those days in college, and mostly at the gay student's club that I learned about gay practices, that I was a bottom boy and he was a stud. The roles at that time were for the bottom boy to be a 'girl' to his boyfriend. To be domestic, do his laundry and other things, keep his room and bathroom clean. It was important for the bottom boy to look the part, to wear tight fitting clothes and be meticulous with grooming. You were the girlfriend, in every way. Effeminate, female, is what was expected. I became that girl.
All through the next many years I was effeminate, wore the bright clothes, was meticulous in my grooming, was quick to do a load of laundry, to show my stud that I could be a good wife. What hurt was that I fell in love easily but I was dropped quickly, as soon as a nicer, younger, toy boy appeared. At thirty five you are no longer a toy boy, your a queer. But I liked being queer. I worked at a resale shop by the University with a friend, she was an older lesbian woman with an eye for young college girls.
I met 'Joe', the Green Beret, with two Purple Hearts, and a Bonze Star. He was older than me, well a lot older really, he was fifty five. He didn't like the 'look' I projected, it embarrassed him to be around queers. For him I dressed conservatively and did my best to stop walking like a queer. I did do his laundry and kept his house, in our relationship there was no question that I was his wife. I did the cooking.
We had lots of friends, some like him old military. In his day of course, if an officer liked a young recruit the recruit bent over. It was like that, that's what he told me. But no one admitted to being homosexual, not the officer and not the young recruit that he had just bent over. We were 'friends', even if I changed the sheets and fixed a Thai dinner. The only piece of clothing he allowed me, nice feminine clothing, was to wear panties. That was it, so I had lots of panties. I had to have something, I mean I was the wife and he had to take off my panties, right?
We live in a quiet neighborhood in Phoenix. Far away from my early life, but there is a large number of gay men here, and lesbians. There is a club, a gathering of gay people. Some old hag with a young college girl. Some young fairy on the back of a Harley. And some like me and my old man, middle class husband and wife. We are the wives, we know that. We trade recipes and refer maids and hairdressers. We have our unmentionables and meet at the manicurist. We hold parties, and upstage one another. Who has the best designer? Now tell me, because I want that look. The 'women' hang out in the kitchen and the 'boys' watch the game or hang out by the grill. I love being a wife. I was born to it.
I was disgusted with myself, I hated myself. I could not look at him in the eyes. He teased me with his cock, he put his cock in my food, he grabbed me and pumped himself against my backside. He came to my bed naked and got in bed grabbing my cock. He kissed me on the mouth. And he stole a tube of anal lubricant from a friend and he used it to fuck me.
He fucked me. I was his fuck boy. I also gave him oral sex and pleasured him with my hand. I had to sleep with him and he told everyone he knew and everyone he saw that I was his toy boy. On campus was a gay club, an unofficial and prohibited social club for gays on campus to get together. He took me there, he walked me around, showing me off. He kissed me in public and grabbed my ass to the delight of the other gay students there.
It was during those days in college, and mostly at the gay student's club that I learned about gay practices, that I was a bottom boy and he was a stud. The roles at that time were for the bottom boy to be a 'girl' to his boyfriend. To be domestic, do his laundry and other things, keep his room and bathroom clean. It was important for the bottom boy to look the part, to wear tight fitting clothes and be meticulous with grooming. You were the girlfriend, in every way. Effeminate, female, is what was expected. I became that girl.
All through the next many years I was effeminate, wore the bright clothes, was meticulous in my grooming, was quick to do a load of laundry, to show my stud that I could be a good wife. What hurt was that I fell in love easily but I was dropped quickly, as soon as a nicer, younger, toy boy appeared. At thirty five you are no longer a toy boy, your a queer. But I liked being queer. I worked at a resale shop by the University with a friend, she was an older lesbian woman with an eye for young college girls.
I met 'Joe', the Green Beret, with two Purple Hearts, and a Bonze Star. He was older than me, well a lot older really, he was fifty five. He didn't like the 'look' I projected, it embarrassed him to be around queers. For him I dressed conservatively and did my best to stop walking like a queer. I did do his laundry and kept his house, in our relationship there was no question that I was his wife. I did the cooking.
We had lots of friends, some like him old military. In his day of course, if an officer liked a young recruit the recruit bent over. It was like that, that's what he told me. But no one admitted to being homosexual, not the officer and not the young recruit that he had just bent over. We were 'friends', even if I changed the sheets and fixed a Thai dinner. The only piece of clothing he allowed me, nice feminine clothing, was to wear panties. That was it, so I had lots of panties. I had to have something, I mean I was the wife and he had to take off my panties, right?
We live in a quiet neighborhood in Phoenix. Far away from my early life, but there is a large number of gay men here, and lesbians. There is a club, a gathering of gay people. Some old hag with a young college girl. Some young fairy on the back of a Harley. And some like me and my old man, middle class husband and wife. We are the wives, we know that. We trade recipes and refer maids and hairdressers. We have our unmentionables and meet at the manicurist. We hold parties, and upstage one another. Who has the best designer? Now tell me, because I want that look. The 'women' hang out in the kitchen and the 'boys' watch the game or hang out by the grill. I love being a wife. I was born to it.
